


The unkown variable (Z)

by Elpiniki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpiniki/pseuds/Elpiniki
Summary: There is a wizard's portrait in the potions classroom. There wasn't one before.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79
Collections: 2020 DBQ Round One: Transfiguration





	The unkown variable (Z)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2020Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round1) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. Just a bit of fun.
> 
> The theme for the first, and only round I wrote for, of the competition “Death by Quill, 2020” was: Transfiguration.
> 
> A million “thank you” to my wonderful beta Shan crochetaway for her time and help, which she gave freely and promptly (even if I don’t like crocheting, much 😂 ). 😘 💛
> 
> Also, thank you to the admins at the Slytherin’s cabal for organising and running such a difficult and time consuming competition. A huge applause to all of them. 💛
> 
> —o0o—
> 
> This was my first try at prose (and entered a competition for it? I know, crazy ...oooor adventurous? 😂 ) and although I didn’t make it at all that far in the competition, I am weirdly proud at this first (and perhaps last) “oneshot of a try” (making up idioms, why not?). I hope it gets a bit of love from the readers here.
> 
> Thank you for your time!  
> I accept concrit 100%, but please be courteous to me and the other readers.  
> xLP 💛

  
There is a wizard’s portrait in the potions classroom. There wasn’t one before.

It’s new, the frame shiny, the paint unchipped. But the wizard that occupies said frame, has years in his eyes. Old mistakes and old bitterness. Longing. Regrets.

His eyes follow her wherever she goes. Hermione knows it, _feels it_. When she abruptly turns to look back at him he never averts his eyes; so unlike _him_ when he was alive. _No_ , he just frowns and asks the same question over and over again in his familiar drawl,

‘Miss Granger. What is it that you want to, so ardently, transfigure?’

Hermione ignores him; so unlike _her_ when he was alive.

She does not have time for idle chatter with paint and wood, however magical, however exquisite handsome features this paint has brought to life. McGonagall has been very specific on the number of days she could have free reign in the potions classroom, after all.

Hurried, light footsteps take her from potion bench to potion bench, finely chopping Alihotsy leaves and crushing shrivelfig. She stirs her cauldron rhythmically, muttering to herself the factors of transfiguration a witch needs take into account.

‘…firm decisive movements…viciousness variable (v)…uhm….wand power variable (w)…shrivelfig for the potion to aid with the transfiguration elements variable (t) and variable (c)… intended transformation, concentration…’

The portrait, eyes her constantly with furrowed brows. A never ending vigil.

Her hair is dishevelled, _but nothing new there_ , her face is gaunt. When was the last time she had eaten? Or left this very room?

‘Miss Granger. Don’t you think Professor McGonagall would provide more… valuable insights? She is, after all, an expert in transfiguration…’

A haunting laugh balancing on the precipice of madness escapes her mouth. _Her mouth_ , riddled with cracked lips and a colour beyond recognition, a colour not found in the palette of the living.

‘Not for what I am aiming for she can’t! Besides, she doesn’t know what the unknown variable (Z) is any better than you do!’ She barks back at him, all bravado and no bite. And as soon as the words have left her mouth, she turns back to the bubbling cauldrons and resumes her stirring in such calm concentration, as if her life is not depending on it. But her life _is._

‘Have you double checked your calculations, Miss Granger?’ the portrait pushes forward. 

‘Yes. Although, I have to alter the formula a bit for element (a)… you see, there is a new body weight to consider.’

‘And the potion to aid with the mental elements of the transfiguration is ready?’

‘Almost. Thank you by the way. Human transfiguration can be so varied. I was never sure I could manage it without the unknown variable (Z), but now with this potion at least I’ve got a chance.’

She keeps nodding to herself all the while, because _yes, this is the right course of action_.

‘Miss Granger. What is it that you want to, so ardently, transfigure?’ the portrait like clockwork repeats. A newly formed worry has his brows burdened.

She stops abruptly again her stirring. _She can’t take any more of this today!_

‘Why do you keep pestering me?! If you don’t want to help me, fine! But then why did you give me the potion recipe?!’

The portrait remains silent, his eyes never ceasing the ever absorbing perusal of her.

‘And…and why don’t you know what the variable (Z) is, anyway?! You always had the answers!’

Angry tears flow unobstructed down her cheeks and in their passing they take nothing but the dust collected on her face. Not the pain, not the longing, not the memories she’d rather be rid of.

‘I just…I just have to give it a try…even without knowing the variable (Z)…’ and the decision is a whisper, but a decision nonetheless.

Hermione fills a vial with the freshly made purple potion and, wand at hand, approaches the portrait.

‘Why did you have to leave?’ accusation and pain reigns her voice. She doesn’t wait for the portrait’s response to down the potion and swish expertly her wand.

_Duro cor animus._

The portrait makes an exasperated move to say or do something but the spell has been cast, the variables calculated, the potion brewed and darkness beckons.

* * *

When she comes to, she is… _in the same room._ The smell of crushed shrivelfig tugging at her senses. Cauldrons bubble around her and the noise tickles her ears. It’s wet and cold as it has always been. The potions classroom. Her second favourite place in her magical home.

She pushes herself from the floor and finds that nothing has changed at all. Something _feels different_ though. Everything seems sharp and focused, yet the edges of her vision blurred. The dreamlike vision Harry had the second time he almost died creeps out from the recesses of her memories. _Strange_ , but also close to what she tried to achieve.

The sounds of angry chopping startle her and she turns to find Professor Snape brewing something behind his potion bench.

‘You… are here?' she whispers.

‘I must be. And you tell me, Miss Granger, why. You are the insufferable know it all, after all', he says and a faint smile struggles to get free from the annoyance that surrounds him.

‘Harry got Dumbledore, but I… I… you?', and her voice doesn’t know if it should convey shock or triumph.

‘Yes...’, he drawls, ‘I suppose that should... tell... you something.’

She feels some kind of admonishment is about to _surely_ come and sighs resigned to this conversation.

‘I...made a mistake?’

‘That you did. A foolish, impulsive, dangerous mistake with no regard for your own life. Human transfiguration is no easy task and you know this!’ Every adjective is pointed and clipped. His eyes are flashing and his mouth is an impossible line. But for her, maybe a _lifeline._

‘I meant no harm.’

‘Well, no Gryffindor ever means harm now, do they?’, he scoffs and ceases his work.

He glances away in frustration and she swears she will die in hopelessness if not for a flicker of longing that twinkles in his dark eyes.

‘You are full of regrets. I know. I have myself some, I just couldn’t bear one more’, she says pointedly.

‘Oh, I am aware Miss Granger’, he pauses for a moment, eyes and mouth calculating. He finally adds dejectedly ‘I have always been aware.’ 

‘Professor Snape...’, Hermione says timidly, approaching him with small indecisive steps, her mouth dry. 

He arches an eyebrow as he waits patiently for her to continue. Or to stop.

‘Does it ever get better? If I choose to go back, I imagine I am on the precipice of an important decision here like Harry once was...’

He smirks faintly at that with, _pride_?

‘If I go back...does it _feel_ any better?’

A defeated sigh escapes his mouth. ‘No Miss Granger. It does not.’

‘Oh...’

He closes the gap between them and stands so close that she can feel his magic trembling and shimmering around him.

‘Some people, Miss Granger...’, he says voice low and measured, lightly touching her jaw with just the tip of his fore and middle fingers, tilting her head slightly ever so left and right as if trying to see some truth of the world in her own eyes.

‘Some people, you mourn forever’.

And then the tiniest of nods, a whole life of acknowledgement. 

‘Miss Granger. What is it that you want to, so ardently, transfigure?’

She gasps, assaulted for the first time by this very question. Tears gather and burn at the edges of her eyes. A Gordian knot stuck in her throat. Everything seems so suffocating real in this death dream.

‘My heart.’ She confesses at last.

He leans in, his cloak a dark but safe embrace. In his eyes a reflection of her own pain, doubled, tripled, augmented a hundred times more.

‘Hermione… ‘, his voice soft as a shadow, ‘You knew you couldn’t transfigure human organs. _You knew it_. And yet you tried to accomplish it anyway. What is it that you truly want?’

Her name from his lips takes all of her mental capacity and burns it in the fiery depths of his eyes.

‘A whisper’, she manages.

The kiss, is unlike any kiss. There is something demanding there, something tender, something completely impossible. He pulls her flush against his body while worshiping her mouth. His arms burn at the bottom of her waist, anchoring her to the ground. Fire ignites and climbs up her spine like ivy. And she melts to him. She burns and melts and reconstructs. And there should be a number of variables she could calculate now, at this very moment, when her whole being is been transfigured. But only a question comes to mind with perfect clarity. _Will she ever kiss anything with that burning passion again?_

They stay like this for a time, in a tight embrace, foreheads greeting each other with affection, listening to the cauldrons bubble.

‘Don’t you have some unimaginable knowledge to bestow upon me or something?’ she asks feeling lighter than ever before.

And _yes, a bit cheeky_.

‘I have.’ He takes her face within his palms gently as if he is holding a treasure or the whole of the world.

‘Live, well Hermione. Live. Well.’ Each word a caress, each word a parting gift of hope. She is the one to close the distance of their lips this time. The second kiss is full of taste. It’s sweet, kind of herby and salty, as unburdened tears run down her cheeks, for she knows it is the last.

‘You know, Dumbledore had left already in Harry’s ”dream”, you linger.’ She says after a while.

He scoffs light-hearted and within their tight embrace the timbre of his voice vibrates in her bones.

‘Dumbledore was a fool-‘,

‘But I thought this is all in my head?’ Hermione interrupts with a hint of annoyance.

‘...and so is Harry Potter.’ Snape finishes with a genuine smile.

She laughs openly at that and throws her head back. He rolls his eyes at her mirth.

Everything is as it should be.

* * *

When it’s over, she finds herself exactly where she was before. The stones are cold and she wet, but neither are unwelcome. She breathes in the familiar smells of the potions classroom and assesses her decision. To live. To bear the loss, the longing and the death. To live for the possibilities ahead. Suddenly all she wants to do is run outside down by the lake, get into the forest and lose herself, run until she can’t breathe anymore.

The portrait watches her leave. Always watching. A never ending vigil.

And as the door closes a half smile is painted at the professor’s mouth. Right there, where he was just kissed.

There is a wizard’s portrait in the potions classroom. There wasn’t one before.


End file.
